


event horizon

by Wagandea



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 23:03:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12263889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wagandea/pseuds/Wagandea
Summary: "He’s burning out, some dying star in the center of Morty’s solar system. The resulting black hole is going to devour them both."





	event horizon

When Morty is seventeen, he reaches for Rick in the darkness of that shitty first floor bedroom. It isn’t the first time. The image is repeated, from fifteen and sixteen where Rick had shivered under his hands, breath caught in his throat for just a millisecond, before he’d go on to play it off like a joke, laugh at how stupid and _fucked up_ this is. He always has some excuse up his sleeve, _oh man Morty don’t tell me you got stung by that cupid bee--_

\--and then the time Morty _was_ stung by the cupid bee, was hit with the convenient sex pollen, and things didn’t feel too different from normal. He remembers how still Rick had gone, how measured his movements, the careful distance kept between them until he could whip up an antidote from the local flora.

Rick is similarly still now. Morty can’t even hear his breathing; he thinks of the bodies in the back yard, him and Rick, always him and Rick, buried together under the grass. That’s going to be them, someday.

He wants to do this before then.

For all intents and purposes, Rick is not his grandfather. They abandoned any pretense of family long ago. Family doesn’t do these things. Family doesn’t need to keep twelve feet exactly apart in a sex pollen outbreak for fear that _something_ might happen.

“C-can a guy get some rest around here? _Fuck_ , Morty, don’t be a-an asshole, grandpa needs his beauty sleep.”

Rick tries to roll over, take the blankets with him and dislodge Morty’s hand. It doesn’t work. The protest doesn’t work either, and _sure_ Rick’s a good actor but Morty knows Rick like the back of his hand these days and maybe that’s the problem, the intimacy. Rick’s spine protrudes from his back like the spines on a dinosaur, illuminated by the time on some high tech alarm clock across the room. Morty watches his back rise and fall in an uneven rhythm with his shuddering breaths, and then moves to toe his shoes off.

“Yeah, well, c-can we just stop pretending for two seconds here, Rick?” The answer is always going to be no, but he swings his legs up onto the bed anyway. There’s not really enough room for two people, but Morty hasn’t grown much since middle school, and Rick is… all skin stretched taut over bone, eats too little and exerts himself too much. He’s burning out, some dying star in the center of Morty’s solar system. The resulting black hole is going to devour them both.

He presses himself into the mess of tension that is Rick’s back, and then his hand ends up under the covers, right at the hollow of Rick’s waist, feels him stay as immobile as physically possible. He smells a little like smoke and oil, the industrial atmosphere from the garage, and a lot like alcohol.

This time, Rick doesn’t have an answer for him. When Morty’s thumb brushes the sharp angle of his hip, he finally moves. And maybe it’s just to grab Morty’s wrist in a warning grasp, but Morty knows he felt Rick’s legs shift too, the same way Morty shuffles awkwardly when he finds something particularly arousing. Rick is too old (probably) to be half hard just from that, but Morty feels accomplished anyway.

“ _Don’t_.” It’s low, and sharp, a sharpness Rick’s voice usually doesn’t carry. That single word is possibly the most sober Morty’s heard him since they _met_. He presses his forehead to the back of Rick’s neck, and shifts his legs.

“G-geez, it’s not like I don’t _know_. We should t-talk about this, Rick, clear the air, you know, b-bottling shit up like that isn’t h-healthy, it isn’t healthy--”

As if _this_ is any healthier. Rick doesn’t point out the irony, doesn’t do much of anything really, so Morty awkwardly continues.

“And… and I’m probably, probably leaving for college this fall, so...” The _if we both don’t end up dead before then_ goes unspoken. Living the way they do, something bad was gonna happen someday. They’re doing pretty good if this was the  _something bad_ , and really, Rick should be grateful that Morty noticed the looks, that Morty felt the same way long before he did.

He’s just making excuses for himself, and hey, it’s working. Rick, clearly, hasn’t gotten that far yet. There’s a lot more Morty could say, he could go on forever trying to convince Rick that this isn’t any more terrible than any of their other terrible ideas, but as it turns out, all he has to say is:

“ _Please._ ”

And Rick shudders and rolls back over into Morty’s touch. Grabs a fistful of Morty’s hair and drags him down with the kind of disorganized elegant violence Morty’s come to expect from him. He’s been waiting forever for this, and he feels like he’ll be waiting forever after, too.


End file.
